Skins and Hearts
by T.J. Lauren
Summary: When Dr. Watson found the Selkie skin lying unguarded on the beach, he expected the owner to be somewhat different than the one he met.  Then again, Holmes certainly qualifies as "different," so it all evens out. Mythology AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes & Co. are the original creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

**Warnings/Rating:** PG-13 for insinuated homosexuality

**Author's Note:** Another fill for a prompt from the shkinkmeme over at Livejournal. Mythology has always been one of my passions, so this was a lot of fun to write!

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

He normally liked the sea. It was in his blood; his mother had come from a long family line of fishermen and sailors. Right now, though, standing on this beach and watching the North Sea waves crash into the rocks, all he could think was that he was missing London.

Watson may have been a doctor himself, but he was still as prone to illness as any other man. After a relapse of the fever that had nearly killed him in India, the physician treating him had recommended he take a holiday away from the city, both for a little peace and for cleaner air. Reluctantly, Watson himself had agreed with the suggestion, if only to ward off another relapse. He was sick and tired of always being sick and tired. A holiday by the sea would do him a lot of good.

Watson reminded himself of these things as he meandered along the beach. True, he missed the activity and energy of London, but he also appreciated the charms of the smaller seaside town in which he was staying. It wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. He took in a deep breath, humming with pleasure at the taste of salt and seaweed on his tongue.

He watched the other people further down the beach, his attention drawn to the laughter of the young lads off to his right. They were throwing a ball back and forth between them, narrowly missing a tall, dark-haired man heading for the path leading inland. The man ducked and called out to them, and the boys gleefully scattered with devious giggles. Watson smiled. It really wasn't so bad. If anything, he thought, he was mostly just upset about leaving London and coming here because he had to, rather than because he wanted to.

While he walked, he leaned on his cane as best as he could. The stick sunk deep into the sand with every step, making Watson's balance even shakier than normal. Spying a stretch of rocks a few dozen yards away, he decided to head for the more solid ground, from which he could look out at the water without falling face first into the sand.

The stone protruding up from the sand started about ankle-height and then sloped higher until it was nearly level with Watson's head, making it fairly easy for him to clamber his way up. He stood on the top, breathing a little heavy and clutching at his cane with white knuckles. The medical man in him knew he shouldn't be so hard on his leg so soon, but the soldier was tired of feeling weak. Out of breath and sore from walking a few feet up a reasonably gentle slope! The bed rest was important yes, but getting this out of shape just wouldn't do.

Looking out at the horizon, Watson never saw the small chasm at his feet until it was too late. He took one step, two steps, three onto the edge of the rock, and promptly his bad leg slipped out from under him. His cane dropped and he wheeled his arms wildly, seeing sky and sea and sand go spinning in his vision as he tumbled off the rock and landed hard on the sand below.

For a moment he just lay there, breathing hard through gritted teeth and waiting for the painful throbbing in his leg to stop. The colorful starbursts dancing in front of his eyes from the pain were slow to fade. When his vision finally cleared a little, Watson blinked up at the expansive evening sky, the top edges of the rocks in his peripheral vision. Apparently, he had slipped down a sheer rock face overlooking a low, narrow sand bar that had been hidden from view amongst the rocks.

Grateful that his landing had at least been softer than if he'd fallen onto stone, he pushed himself up, spitting out sand and biting back a groan of pain at the twinge running through his thigh. He clasped one hand at the mostly healed wound, massaging it gingerly in an attempt to relieve the ache. Blearily, he noticed his cane a few inches from his face and grabbed it, using it to help push his uncooperative body up.

He had just raised himself onto his hands and knees when he noticed the sleek dark fur less than a foot away from his face. Watson pitched himself back with a bitten-back cry, fearing he had stumbled onto some sleeping creature. The last thing he wanted to do was climb back up the rock with a hurt leg and an angry seal chasing him.

The dark shape didn't move. He stared at it, brows coming together in a puzzled frown when he realized it was too small and shapeless to be a seal. Cautiously, he crept a little closer, nudging it with his cane. The pile of fur didn't move, and he realized that was all it was: a pile of fur.

Bemused, he reached out to stroke the fur, wondering who would have left such a fine fur coat on the beach. He picked it up and held it out, shaking it out a little.

It was most certainly not a coat. It was a sealskin. An actual pelt; body, flippers, head, the whole skin of the animal was hanging from Watson's fingertips.

Carefully he laid it out flat upon the rocks, brushing away some sand. He turned it over belly-up, and examined the long slit up the center with a medical eye. This was no clean cut made by knife, or scalpel, or shears. The pelt looked as though it had been torn, ripped apart in an uneven line down almost the exact middle. He pulled one side back and felt the moist underside of the skin. It was warm to the touch. It felt strange for what it was; it still felt _alive_.

His grandmother's rough Scottish voice echoed in his ears as he stared at the pelt in his hands, repeating to him the seamen's lore and legends told to her by her fisherman father and grandfather. Tales of sea-beasts, of mermaids, and of beautiful Selkies, seals who could shed their skin and reveal the lovely woman underneath.

_"If ye find a Selkie's skin on the beach,"_ she had told a young Watson, with his chin nestled on her knees, _"and if ye take the skin, ye can make a wife of her. And she is a good and loving wife, the Selkie-lady. But ye mustn't let her have the skin back, or she will disappear back to the sea that bore her."_

Watson felt a wave of shock sweep over him, as though he'd stepped into the freezing sea itself. He had been raised on those stories, and even past childhood, through medical school and war, and illness and death, he had clung to a subtle belief in it. He still held those convictions now, however quieted they had been by time and experience. He had never seen anything of that like for himself, until now.

He looked around. The creature had picked a good hiding place for it's pelt, if it truly was a real Selkie skin. If he had not slipped into the crevice, he probably never would've found it. It was pure luck on Watson's part that brought him this opportunity, and pure luck on the Selkie's part that he was a far better man than many others who could potentially have come across it.

He heard those boys shrieking at each other down the shore a ways and frowned. Someone could still find it, if he just left it there. He had not intention of taking it with him, however; how would he find the Selkie to return it? Watson cast glance at the sun sinking below the horizon far inland. Night would soon overtake the sky entirely, but there were few clouds, and it was not too cold.

Carefully taking the skin and placing it back where he had found it, Watson went back around the rocks and climbed back up to the top once more, cautiously avoiding the crevice this time. He found a spot overlooking the hiding place so that he could keep an eye on it and settled in to wait, watching the light from the setting sun dance across the surface of the waves.

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><p>End Chapter 1<p>

Hello again, friend of a friend! To returning readers, welcome back! To the new faces, I hope you'll stick around! If this is the first piece by me you've read, I've got several more, spanning several fandoms, so be sure to drop my my profile and check those out!

In regards to this particular story, Skins and Hearts is currently three chapters long, but I can feel plot bunnies starting to stir, so there may be more in the future. For now, I'm calling it finished, but I may eventually open it back up and start adding more to it. It depends on how busy I am with other projects and how hard those plot bunnies bite down. :) Chapter 2 will be up in one week, and chapter 3 the week after that. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes & Co. are the original creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

**Warnings/Rating:** PG-13 for insinuated homosexuality

**Author's Note:** Bored, so, posting earlier than I said I was going to. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, and especially those of you who reviewed and added this to your favs and/or watch lists. :)

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

It was well past midnight when someone appeared once more. The few people that had been on the beach with him had long since left for home, leaving Watson alone on the beach for hours with nothing but the chilly air sweeping in from the sea and the crashing of the waves to keep him company.

Watson heard the man before he saw him, his voice clear and resonant as it rose and fell over the dunes in a bawdy tavern song. When the sound first reached his ears, Watson perked up and listened. To his displeasure, he realized it was getting louder, coming closer. By this point the doctor was tired, cold, and more than a little irritable. The last thing he felt like dealing with was a drunk.

He moved protectively in front of the pelt, planting his feet solidly; he didn't really expect the man would try and take it, but he would take no chances. Surely he was not the only one with even a smidgen of faith in the old tales.

From his vantage point, he could see the dark shape of the man coming down the trail that led to the beach. He was tall and slender, and moved with an easy grace, maneuvering around and up onto the rocks with an agility Watson found himself envying. As he drew nearer, Watson could make out finer details: worn trousers over bare feet, and a worn shirt with neither collar nor cuffs, shining dark hair and sharply angled features, and a confident, pleased smile that slipped immediately as soon as he first caught sight of Watson, standing on the rock not even fifteen feet in front of him.

The man froze in his tracks and his raunchy song died away. Grey eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment they just stared at one another, lost for words.

Watson restrained an nervous twitch - the ruffian was hardly appropriately dressed and was _staring_ at him. He managed to muster a bland smile, hoping the half-dressed man would move on quickly.

But the man simply stood there, eyes roving over Watson, making him blush. He couldn't have felt more exposed and vulnerable if he had been naked. And then, slowly, fearfully, that intense gaze slid past him to the crevice. Watson's eyes narrowed a fraction.

A wave crashed hard against the edge of the rocks, the sudden sound making them both stiffen. The stranger cleared his throat, and his attention once again pinned itself on Watson. He began edging his way around the doctor warily, as though he expected to be attacked suddenly. Watson turned with him, keeping him in his line of sight. The man took a purposeful step closer to the crevice. Watson matched him, barring the way.

The stranger drew himself up to his full, not-inconsiderable height. "I would be much obliged if you would let me pass, sir," he said coolly.

Watson tightened his grip on his cane. "There is plenty of beach to pass around me," he replied, voice carefully neutral.

The man merely looked annoyed, and he did not falter, but Watson fancied he saw a glimmer of anxiety in his face. His eyes began to dart back and forth, to Watson, to the crevice, to the surrounding rocks. He seemed to be mapping out the quickest way towards the crevice. Watson was certain he must have known about the presence of the skin.

He frowned to himself suddenly, something niggling at the back of his mind. He had been guarding the Selkie skin for hours, and no one had even come near this end of the beach. Now this strange man comes along and seems to know exactly where it is?

Watson examined him closer, noting the tense set of his shoulders, the opening and closing of his fists. The man was afraid? Of what? Then, onto his sharp bone structure, with prominent collar bones peeking out of his shirt - the man was wraith-like in his leanness. There were stains on his clothing - booze and blood and crusted salt, it looked like, the hems were frayed ragged. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, shoulders-width apart; a fighter's stance. Sand was clinging to the man's bare toes.

His bare _webbed_ toes.

Watson looked up again, comprehension sliding across his face like sunlight. "Oh, so it's _you_, then!" he laughed, and the Selkie stepped back, eyes widening.

"What is me?" he asked, playing the idiot. A bead of nervous sweat caught Watson's eye as it rolled down his neck, catching on his collarbone.

Watson reined in his amused smile and tried to look stern. "You're a fool, you know, taking such a risk. How could you think this would be a secure place to hide it?"

The man-creature twisted his mouth in resignation. "Well, I suppose I'm just unlucky tonight."

"I should say so," Watson remarked, shifting his stance to lean heavier on his cane. "But not so unlucky as you imagine, I think."

"What are your intentions then? Must I to fight you to recover what is mine?" the Selkie suggested sourly, hand still curled into loose fists. He started to widen his stance further, eyeing the fissure behind Watson.

The doctor held up his hands and stepped back. "You need have no fears on that front, for I've no intention of attempting to force you to become my lover."

He just barely caught the Selkie's surprise before it was hidden away again, enveloped by suspicion. He raised his chin and gave an arrogant sniff, and Watson was struck by the aristocratic look to his face. "As if you'd be able to force me into anything. I rather doubt I'd have much trouble overtaking you, in your state." He tilted his head forward again, casting a pointed glance down at Watson's bad leg.

"There's no need for such aggression, you know." Watson said frankly. "We both know it's all posturing. Were I in possession of your skin, you wouldn't dare risk an open attack."

Perhaps the doctor should have chosen his words better, for the beautiful creature stiffened. "What do you wish of me, then?" he bit out through gritted teeth.

Watson felt a pang of guilt stroke against his heart. The Selkie still thought Watson wished him some sort of ill. "The honour of knowing your name would suffice," he offered shyly.

The Selkie stared, and Watson immediately flushed. "I apologize, sir, that was terribly invasive and petty of me. I would not withhold your skin from you, even for such a simple thing as that."

"Then what do you want from me?" the Selkie demanded quietly, his eyes narrowed and calculating. Watson again shifted back, trying to look as no aggressive as possible.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, I swear it. I've no quarrel with you, and I've no desire of anything from you… except perhaps, that you will listen to me, and be more careful in the future?" He smiled and took several steps away from the crevice, gesturing for the Selkie to pass.

The dark-haired male eyed him suspiciously, starting towards the gap hesitantly. Watson nodded briefly and looked away, and the creature darted over and jumped down, the rocks hiding even his tall form from sight.

Watson smiled and came down the easy way, walking down the gentle slope. He started to leave, then turned around to see the Selkie standing by the opening of the split, watching him. He was clutching his pelt close to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around it like he was shielding a child.

"You may call me Holmes," the Selkie offered, not looking at the doctor.

"Holmes? Really?" Watson exclaimed in surprise. The man-creature looked at him sharply, and he felt himself flushing again. "That is… I would not have expected a Selkie to have such a… ah… _common_ sounding name?" he said weakly, wincing in embarrassment.

Holmes did not seem much bothered by his rudeness, simply shrugging. "That would be because it isn't a Selkie name. My true name would draw far too much attention to myself, so I chose a standard human moniker." He gave the doctor a Cheshire cat grin. "So you see, I am not completely without sense in regards to my safety."

"You are still incredibly fortunate someone with lesser morals than I was not the one to come across it. To leave it out in the open, and for so long!" Watson scolded, shaking his head. "That was highly reckless, my dear sir, to leave your one vulnerability so open."

Holmes shrugged. "There is only so much I can do in that regard," he said. He hesitated a moment before adding on "I suppose I should thank you, for watching over my skin."

Watson smirked wryly. "Well, someone had to look after it, since it's owner is so negligent."

The Selkie sneered at him for that, but waved it off. He leaned down and laid the pelt gently out on the sand, then stood again. Uncaring of Watson's presence, Holmes stripped off the grungy shirt, exposing his bare chest. The moonlight illuminated the pale flawless skin and lean muscle, and Watson averted his eyes, clearing his throat.

The Selkie cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong?" he asked, sounding bemused. Then he looked down at his naked torso, and mirthful understanding flared in those sea-silver eyes. "Ah, forgive me. I momentarily forgot that nudity is somewhat unaccepted amongst humans."

"I wouldn't necessarily say unaccepted, just…" Watson glanced sidelong at him before turning to face him fully, fighting down the blush, "…frowned upon."

Holmes grinned mockingly, "Such modesty, my good doctor."

Watson blinked. "How did you know I'm a doctor?"

"The same way I can tell that you've been out here for hours," he answered abruptly. He turned away, directing his attention to carefully shaking out and folding up the filthy shirt.

Watson shifted and adjusted his jacket. "Well, then. Have a care, Holmes. Look after your skin better from now on." He waited for Holmes to meet his eyes. When the Selkie looked up, Watson winked and added on a cheerful "Doctor's orders!"

Watson turned and walked away straight-backed down the beach. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder at the beautiful creature lit up by the moonlight. If he had, he might have seen the Selkie watching him with intent curiosity, a charmed smile gracing his face.

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><p>End Chapter 2<p>

See you all again in a week or so for the final installment! Feel free to check out some of my other work in the meantime!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes & Co. are the original creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

**Warnings/Rating:** PG-13 for insinuated homosexuality

**Author's Note:** (sigh) I've gone all fail-writer again. This was pretty much done before I even posted part one. Then, right before I was going to post this chapter, I decided I wanted to rewrite a good-sized portion of it. Then I got a job during the summer. Then I discovered Doctor Who, and was immediately addicted. Then school kicked back up. And then I got hooked on Fright Night (which I already have some fic up for, if you are so inclined). Three months later, and I've finally finished Skins and Hearts. This is so typically me… Anyway, thanks for reading my ramble and I hope you enjoy the last chapter of the story!

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Sherlock watched the human leave, the moonlight shining off his body. His limp looked painful, and Sherlock tried not to feel sympathy, since that was a feeling worth nothing to anyone involved. At any rate, a far more urgent issue was what he was going to tell his brother. The evening may have only amounted to a close call, but Mycroft was still going to be furious when he heard about this encounter.

He shoved down his pants, taking up the shirt and neatly tucking them both under a narrow lip on the rock face inside the fissure. Scavenging the vestments on a previous trip had been tricky, but the trouble was well worth the freedom of movement about the bustling human cities. He would prefer not to have to repeat the process, but, as with his pelt, there was only so much he could do to hide them. Thankfully, soon enough that would no longer be a problem, as he had nearly completed his first objective.

As a lower ranking clan leader, Mycroft had known that Sherlock was the best possible agent for the planned land-based fact-finding mission. He had taken several months to convince Sherlock to aid him with this. When Mycroft first approached him, Sherlock had refused several times, rebelling at the thought of sinking so low as to working for his brother. Eventually, however, his own curiosity and desire to explore got the better of him, and he agreed to the job. Humans were just such _fascinating _creatures, so solid and straightforward, and learning to blend in with them was a challenge that Sherlock could not resist.

As Sherlock's brother, however, Mycroft wanted him to stay far away from land in general and towns in particular, and had spent just as long lecturing him on staying unobtrusive. Mycroft's exasperation with Sherlock didn't take long to transition from pleading for something resembling duty to pleading for something resembling self-preservation.

By that point, however, Sherlock's stubbornness had also transitioned, from galling his brother for sheer spiteful rivalry, to determination to see his part through. Sherlock would never pass on an opportunity like this. The quest for knowledge was too great of a pull for Sherlock's mind. There was no denying that it would be dangerous, but that just made it all the more thrilling in many ways.

He picked up his pelt, holding it close to his body in a mockery of human modesty, and waded through the coarse, loose sand to get closer to the waves. He could see the world from here. The foamy sea spread out on one side, sinuous and endless and shifting, and the harsh land across the other, rocky beach bound by grassy banks of gravel and broken shells. It was empty save for the moonlight and the healer-human, the waves just beginning to wash away the seaweed scraps left behind by high tide.

The healer-human was just climbing up over the long grassy dune separating the beach from the more solid earth. He put a lot of weight on his stick, moving faster once he had cleared the beach and had harder ground to support his weight easier.

From his tiredness and exasperated demeanor, the way he had shivered, the scent of the sea clinging to his form and the sand that had dried onto his clothing, Sherlock could tell that he had been outside on the beach for some hours. Most likely, he had found Sherlock's skin only minutes after he himself had hidden it and made his way into the city. And he had chivalrously guarded the pelt until Sherlock had returned, saving him from potential discovery.

Sherlock tilted his head, watched him go, and thought of war.

War was what had given the man his limp, Sherlock deduced. Likely one of the territorial battles humans so often engaged in. From the tan lines on his wrists, barely visible in the moonlight, Sherlock assumed it was one of the struggles for power over distant, sunburned lands. He wondered why humans were so fond of fighting over territory so far away that most of their clan had never even seen it before. It was rather impractical. Selkies too fought battles for territory, but not over waters that were oceans away.

Sherlock stepped into his skin, sighing in relief as he fully reclaimed himself. He carefully pressed the skin down, feeling the blubber and subcutaneous tissue knit back into his body. His bones and muscles quietly shifted back to their more usual form once more. This was getting easier and faster with practice, he reflected.

Sherlock stretched out across the sand and yawned, his whiskers spreading artlessly. His flippers wiggled happily as a cool wave rushed over him, soaking his fur. He rolled onto his back in the sand, moonlight and sea water pooling on his belly. He lay there for a few moments just relishing the feeling of being in his own skin again. He always felt most at home literally on the edge of the sea, with the fascinatingly solid ground clinging to him and pulling down on him, and the salty ocean lovingly washing over and around him, buoying him back up.

The sensation of such strong contrasts always made him feel slightly giddy. He often wondered why more of his people didn't take advantage of their pseudo-amphibious forms, even with the risks. If nothing else, they would know far more about their land-walker cousins than they did currently. Mycroft had called the thought ridiculous, but Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what a world openly shared between selkie and human would be like.

He had made several lone trips onshore in his pursuit of studying human beings, their activities and movements, learning their speech, and about unique land-walker things. He used his chosen human name - Holmes - to stay unobtrusive, and wandered the underbelly of the city night after night. His lack of knowledge of human etiquette and customs shrank more and more each trip. He was nearly ready for the next step, no matter how much Mycroft disapproved. Knowledge was more important than the sake of sibling rivalry, more valuable than his own safety. And there was only so much he could learn from short night-time visits. Soon, he would have to immerse himself more fully, he remembered with a little thrill.

Sherlock was sure that it wouldn't be as difficult or dangerous as Mycroft kept trying to tell him. Mycroft was probably hoping that Sherlock would withdraw, and let someone else take his place in this mission, but he was being overly cautious. Sherlock wasn't naïve; he knew the risks. Sherlock counted it a blessing from Sedna that it had not been one of the cruel wastrels or witless brigands that he commonly met that discovered his pelt. But he also knew the potential. Not all humans were so terrible, as proved by the kindness and intelligence of the man who had stumbled across his skin.

Sherlock had gleaned three things from this incident. One, that he needed a better place to hide his skin if he was to continue his studies of human culture. Two, that this particular human might make a potential ally in his pursuits. Three, confirmation on his original hypothesis that not all humans were the cruel monsters bent on dominating all other living creatures that Selkie lore painted them as.

Shuffling his way further into the waves until he had enough water to swim, he began planning out his next trip onshore, when he would seek out the healer human who had kindly looked after his skin for him.

What did that fat walrus Mycroft know anyways?

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><p>End<p>

Quick note: Sedna is an Inuit deity, goddess of sea creatures like seals, whales, etc

**Regarding a continuation (or not) of 'Skins and Hearts':** I intended for this to be only three chapters. While writing, I had a handful of ideas for further adventures of Selkie!Holmes and Dr. Watson. But, I also have a _lot_ of unfinished WIP stories (for Holmes, Kiss Bang, Doctor Who, Fright Night, and my original work) that I intend to devote my full attention to, now that the bulk of SaH is done. I'm calling this complete for now. Feel free to keep this on your alert list, as I may eventually add more. However, I make no promises that I ever will; this will most likely be all that ever gets posted.

That said, if you want to encourage further work, make some suggestions! Throw ideas out there for things you would like to see happen. I might use your idea, I might not, but by all means, throw me some plot bunnies, and the likelihood of SaH continuing will increase tenfold. In the meantime, I have a lot more stories than just this, so go on and read some of my other work! Thanks so much for reading my little story, I hope you enjoyed it!


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